Let Them Eat Cake
by Kellen
Summary: Estel wants revenge for the cheese wheel incident. Nothing ever goes right. Sequel to Here Cometh the Cheese
1. Chapter One

_"Let Them Eat Cake"__  
Chapter One (of, I think, three. Not entirely sure, though.)  
Rated: PG, general wackiness and chaos.   
  
Summary: With the cheese wheel craziness still fresh on their minds,   
the victim of "Here Cometh the Cheese" -- Estel -- plans a nasty   
revenge on his brothers, father and Legolas. Unfortunately for him,   
things never go as planned.   
  
Disclaimers: Bet you're waiting for a patented Kellen wacky intro or   
an inane disclaimer.  
  
*twiddles thumbs, whistles "A Pirates Life for Me."*  
  
Still waiting?  
  
*grins*  
  
PSYCHE!!!  
  
Don't own 'em. *winks*_  
  
Chapter One:  
  
Cake was a beautiful thing. Estel regarded the wondrous sight on the   
table before him. The creamy frosting was thick, spread generously   
over the cake. The cook had somehow managed to create leaves of   
frosting spilling from the center of the cake and wrapping around the   
sides. Estel could just imagine the spicy-sweet taste of the ground   
root used for the flavor. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining   
the sweet, milky taste of the frosting. His mouth watered, and, as he   
opened his eyes, he sighed.   
  
Cook was quick to smack his shoulder with his big wooden spoon. "Not   
for you, Estel."  
  
Estel turned to face Cook, rubbing his shoulder. Cook had yet to be   
forgiven for starting the cheese wheel fiasco. In Estel's eyes, Cook   
took most of the blame, though it had been Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas   
and even Elrond to perpetuate the prank. "It's never for me," he   
stated. "I get scraps."  
  
Cook rolled his eyes. "You are a son of Elrond, grown by human   
standards. Even if we did feed you scraps, you have the tools   
necessary to survive on your own." Cook paused. "Most of the tools   
necessary."  
  
Estel raised an eyebrow. "Most?"  
  
Cook just shook his head.  
  
"Oh, no. You are not starting this, Cook. Most tools necessary? What   
do you mean? What don't I have?"  
  
"My dear lord Estel, you were hunting a cheese wheel, thinking it had   
killed Fiwen. A cheese wheel, m'lord."  
  
Estel bit his lip. "What do you imply?"  
  
Cook's lips quirked. Estel narrowed his eyes. The elf was having too   
much fun with this. By all rights, Estel should have just turned and   
left.   
  
But, no. He had to stick around, prying an insult out of an elf   
lifetimes his senior. Estel had the feeling that Cook would he lacked   
the very thing Estel himself was beginning to wonder about.  
  
"One must have a certain amount of intelligence in order to survive   
on one's own."  
  
There it was. Estel groaned, having to give Cook credit. Not only did   
he just insult a son of Elrond, but said son of Elrond couldn't even   
refute him. Estel had been the one to hunt cheese. He'd been the one   
to pry insults out of Cook instead of just leaving. "Point taken,   
Cook," Estel muttered.   
  
Cook just grinned. "Now, out, Master Estel. I have work to do."  
  
Estel rolled his eyes. "I was leaving anyway." Not the best   
rejoinder, but after that episode, he was afraid anything he'd say,   
Cook could twist and change into the best witty remark, and Estel   
would be left floundering for rejoinders. "I don't know why I come   
down here, Cook. I really don't."  
  
"Like I said," Cook stated wisely as he put a few finishing touches   
on the cake's decoration, "intelligence is a highly valued commodity."  
  
Estel walked out the door, shaking his head. "I believe I've been   
insulted again," he muttered. He waited until he knew he was out of   
earshot of the elf -- which took a good amount of walking -- and   
started talking. "It happens every time. Every time."  
  
"I'm sorry, m'lord. I didn't quite catch that."  
  
Estel looked up, and immediately winced. The dark-haired she-Elf in   
front of him frowned prettily, waiting for his response. She still   
had streaks of bright purple in her hair. Had all gone well before,   
Elrohir would have been the one with purple, and the whole cheese   
incident would not have happened. Fiwen had been in the way. She bore   
part of the blame for Estel's humiliation.  
  
Estel grinned.   
  
He had a plan.  
  
"Fiwen, I need you to do something for me."  
  
The poor she-Elf immediately looked frightened. "No, Estel. No."  
  
Estel nodded. "The humiliation is over, Fiwen. Revenge is about to   
begin."  
  
Fiwen looked sick. "I will not be a party to this."  
  
"You were to the last one."  
  
She shook her head. "Not again, Estel. Please."  
  
"Follow me, Fiwen."  
  
She did so, relunctantly. The son of Elrond had spoken.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*TBC  
  
_It's short; it's not funny yet and there are a few grammatical errors __  
that I couldn't fix, no matter how I tried. Weird, but...  
  
Oh, and blame. Bill the Pony (of course, she spawned the original)   
and Saber, for giving me such a mental image that it spawned this   
story!! Saber -- you're insane. Thank you.   
  
Cheers,   
Kellen_


	2. Chapter Two

_Let Them Eat Cake__  
by: Kellen  
  
A/N: Oh, come on! It wouldn't be a Kellen fic without this! :o) There   
are, like, three people in my office today. Everybody else in in   
Eugene -- which is where I'm headed come 5 pm -- and I am going   
insane!! At least I got to finish this. Something productive, even if   
its not, you know, work. Ah, well. I see it as compensation for   
working on Veteran's Day and being hauled up in front of 700 people   
to say something inspirational and heartwarmed. I should just read   
them "Here Cometh the Cheese." Seriously! Anyway, without much   
further ado...  
  
Disclaimer: (Y'all thought I was getting to the story,now, eh?) If I   
actually owned these characters, I'd sell this. Cash is good. We like   
cash. It's precciousssss to ussss...  
  
*shakes head* Sorry. Was recently in Wal-Mart. I don't think I'm   
allowed back. (I'll leave the rest of the up to your imagination...)_  
  
Let Them Eat Cake  
Chapter Two:  
  
  
"Oh, for the sake of the Valar, I am a house-Elf," Fiwen   
muttered, "not a spy." She bit her lip as she rounded a corner in   
Elrond's house, looking decidedly anxious as she played with her long   
dark hair. She twirled a strand around her finger, bringing the end   
up to eye level. Errant strands of bright purple still shot through   
the otherwise black as night hair and the ends were split and frayed.   
She frowned. She thought she looked like an overworked human   
housewife. Very un-Elf-like. Very not befitting an Elf of her   
stature.   
  
"This is your fault, Estel." Fiwen almost snarled when she realized   
she was talking to herself. She had always been the most cool, the   
most collected of she-Elves, and only just recently had acquired the   
nasty habit of humanity. "It's from being around him all the time."  
  
Fiwen stopped, nearly taking the time to slap herself. "And now I am   
getting impudent. Lord Elrond will put me out in the street for   
thinking like that."   
  
"I do not always condemn a person for how think." The deep voice of   
her master and employer said behind her. Fiwen's eyes went   
wide. "Usually it is by your actions how you are judged."  
  
Fiwen closed her eyes, wishing for all the world that a balrog would   
rise up underneath her and devour her living soul. Of couse, she'd   
probably blame that on Estel, too, were it to actually happen. She   
whirled, suddenly out of breath. "My lord! I did not hear... notice   
you... I... you are behind me? How long have you been behind me?"  
  
Elrond tried not to smile at the she-Elf's now complete humiliation.   
It seemed somewhat cruel to actually be amused at her antics,   
considering she had born the brunt of practical jokes lately. "I have   
heard something about spying and it being Estel's fault."  
  
"Oh, by the Valar, you heard it all."   
  
It was the sheer terror underneath the deadpan tone that softened   
Elrond's heart. Fiwen was young, somewhat outspoken, but a good,   
loyal and honest Elf. "Aye, yes. I did," he replied, "and, trust me,   
no one knows how trying humans can be than me." He winked at   
her. "Inside knowledge," he said conspiratorally. Fiwen   
grinned. "Now, Fiwen, do tell: What has Estel done now?"  
  
Fiwen related the morning's events, nearly breathless by the time she   
was done.  
  
Elrond laughed. "The boy is thinking revenge for the cheese, now is   
he? What say you and I cook up a little something to forestall that,   
eh, Fiwen?"  
  
A slow smile spread across Fiwen's countenance. "What shall I do, my   
lord?"  
  
"You said he was going to meet you in the kitchen to put on a show   
for Cook?" Fiwen nodded. Elrond smiled. "Good. We will turn the table   
on him. You and Cook will whip up a little something especially for   
Estel. Follow me."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Estel glared at Fiwen in consternation. She was flubbing it. His   
master plan, and she was absolutely, positively ruining it! It was   
heartless. Cruel. He knew she wasn't that stupid.   
  
Then again, considering all he'd put her through, perhaps she'd   
finally snapped.  
  
Fiwen crossed the room, still speaking with Cook, but never getting   
him out of the kitchen like Estel planned. "I do not see why you   
think I have to run get more of those herbs, Cook. I've much to do   
here."  
  
Cook rolled his eyes. "Fiwen, you are of top calibur when it comes to   
finding some of these herbs. I have seen you work."  
  
"It's not work. I enjoy it."  
  
"So, go do it."  
  
"It takes time, Cook. I cannot just leave on a moment's -- what is   
this? Oh, Cook!"  
  
Cook turned, motioning toward the doorway. "Estel, you can come in.   
You do not have to hang on the doorjamb forever, dear boy."  
  
Estel rolled his eyes and stepped in the kitchen. He'd be old and   
gray, and Cook would still call him "dear boy."  
  
Cook took a vial from Fiwen, who'd picked it up off a counter. "How   
did this get here?"  
  
"It's your kitchen, Cook," Fiwen said, "though if that got into   
anything..."  
  
Cook groaned. "I would never hear the end of it. At least I'd have   
time to get out of Imladris before reprisal."  
  
Fiwen laughed. "How perfectly horrible of you, Cook. Elrond might be   
induced to murder if you actually put that in anything."  
  
Estel stepped into the room. "What's it do?"  
  
Fiwen turned away, obstensibly to put the vial of clear liquid on the   
shelf, and hid a grin. He was doing exactly what Elrond said he would   
do. She could almost see his mind working out a plan.   
  
Cook answered for her. "Just a few drops of that would cause some   
discomfort to elves," he commented. "An elf sick to his stomach is   
not a happy elf, seeing as how they rarely feel such discomfort." He   
turned to Fiwen. "You have that put away, dear heart? I shudder to   
think of what might happen if I mixed that up with anything."  
  
Estel narrowed his eyes. "If it causes sickness in elves, why is it   
in the kitchen?"  
  
Cook smiled. "Because of you."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
Fiwen took up the answer. "It may make elves uncomfortable, but,   
conversely, it actually helps a human's sickness. It's a very strange   
thing, though, of course, there is stranger in Middle Earth."  
  
"Huh." Estel watched. "That is strange, indeed."  
  
"Did you need something, Estel?" Cook asked.   
  
"Hmm? Oh, no." Estel turned to leave. "Not a thing. Not a thing."  
  
Fiwen waited till she knew he was out of earshot. She smiled at   
Cook. "I think we've bagged him."  
  
Cook nodded.   
  
"I will go make sure Lord Elrond knows that things have been set in   
motion."  
  
Cook grinned. "This is bound to be good."  
  
"Oh, yes." Fiwen nodded. "Oh, yes," she said as she exited the   
kitchen.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Estel eyes the vial he had stolen and the pastries he'd similarly   
lifted earlier that night.   
  
"I wonder how much to use," he whispered as he poured drops of the   
clear, odorless liquid into the pastries. "I wonder if it needs   
cooked in," he continued. "Ah, well. If it doesn't work this time   
around, we'll just try again."  
  
He arranged the pastries neatly. "Perfect for breakfast," he   
commented as he left it on Elrond's table in the library. "Just   
perfect."  
  
---------------------------------------------TBC  
  
_Oooh, a nefarious plot hatched by Estel. Or has it been hatched by __  
Fiwen and Elrond? Who knows anymore!?!? And who's going to take the   
brunt of this joke? What's in the vial? And who's gonna stop me? I'm   
going stir-crazy!!!   
  
Cheers, Kellen_


	3. Chapter Three

Let Them Eat Cake

Chapter Three

Disclaimers: I don't own anything recognizable. Fiwen is my character. There is a small homage to Pirates of the Caribbean in this chapter.

Author's Note: The "well aimed comment" Legolas makes later in this chapter, I think, might need briefly explained. To do so in the story caused some unnatural lagging. When Legolas says Thranduil will welcome Elrond Peredhil as he comes seeking refuge, there are a few reasons -- in my humble view -- that make it cutting. First, Thranduil and Elrond are not the best of friends, and to seek refuge from someone you'd rather not spend loads of time with... yeah. Secondly, in pointing out Elrond's half-elven nature, Legolas makes clear just why Thranduil does not take Elrond quite as seriously as he probably should. Again, this is all just in my humble view. :o) Well, would you look at that -- a serious A/N from Kellen! The world is ending.

Author's Note 2: I'm setting up for my major zaniness in the last chapter (which is the next chapter), so this chapter is less zany than one might expect. I still think it's good, but hey... :o) Anyway, next chapter has Legolas with a blow gun, Estel with his hand stuck in a tree, a crazed Elrond, twins confusion, and people covered in food. I've got to set all that up!! 

Elrond, lord of Imladris, strode into the library just as the sun's rays were caressing the bindings of the ages-old books that lined the shelves. Seemingly absentmindedly, he snared a pastry as he walked to his desk. He smiled as he sat down. Fiwen and Cook had done an admirable job. Estel had planted pastries right where he knew every one of the elves that passed by would grab one. It was devious. A perfect prank.

If perhaps the concoction he'd put in it had been more potent than water.

Elrond didn't know which was funnier: the fact that Estel had loaded the pastries with water, or the fact that Estel had actually broken into the kitchen to steal a vial of water. 

Either way, it was quite a thing. 

Elrond chuckled to himself and bit into the pastry. Other than it being a tad damp, it really was very sweet, indeed. It was time to get some real work done. The others had this well in hand by now. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Elrohir snagged two pastries and flipped one to Elladan. The elder twin caught it cleanly, smirking as he caught sight of Estel watching furtively around a corner.

"Keeping tabs, is he, on who's eating these things?"

Elrohir grinned and answered quietly, "I don't think he wants all of the household to eat these. Only a certain few."

"Speaking of, are we grabbing one for our Silvan friend?"

"No need," came the call from up the hallway. Legolas rounded the corner, carrying his quiver and bow. "I'll grab one on my way by."

"Where are you headed?"

"Making arrows. I want to have a full quiver before leaving for Mirkwood next week." Legolas skirted past them, grabbing a pastry on his way by. "I will be in the Hall of Fire."

Elrohir smirked, and looked expectantly down the hallway. 'Hall of Fire' was the cue. Elladan smacked him on the shoulder. "Estel is watching," he whispered quietly and fiercely.

"He'll hear you."

Anything, though, that Estel might have heard was drowned out by the scream. 

Fiwen came crashing around the corner, stumbling and falling to her knees, screaming all the while. Her purple-streaked hair swung wildly behind her. Before the three elves down the hall could start toward her, she sprang to her feet -- wincing a bit as she did so -- and careened down the hallway and smashing into Legolas. His quiver dropped as he reached out to catch her, but she ricocheted and came to rest in Elladan's arms. 

Elladan sank to the ground, holding a still-screaming Fiwen, and Elrohir came to his side. "Fiwen? Fiwen, come now. What is it?"

In response, Fiwen screamed in his face. 

Elladan whispered in her ear, "All right, that's loud."

"The purpose," Fiwen gasped, out of breath, "was to be convincing, was it not?"

Elrohir raised an eyebrow before turning to Legolas, appropriately panicked look planted on his countenance. "Run. Get Ada."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Estel watched in morbid fascination as Legolas careened down the hall, running past him and never acknowledging the man's presence. Estel turned his gaze away from the running elf's rapidly retreating back and focussed on his brothers' vain attempts to calm Fiwen. He watched, wide-eyed, as Fiwen refused to calm. Elladan continued speaking to her, but even the soothing cadence of the high tongue had no effect. There were a few moments where Fiwen would quiet, as if to catch her breath, but then the screaming would begin again. 

Estel chewed his lip; something was very wrong. Something was very wrong indeed. 

Elves did not just go mad. Someone had done this to Fiwen. Worry and anger crept up in him; he'd find out who did this. 

And, oh, when he did...

Estel's face hardened and he turned, plan of action already forming in his mind.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas turned a corner at full speed and spun on his heel, neatly avoiding Elrond, who had been coming up the hallway. The prince fell in step beside Elrond. 

"Things are progressing?"

Legolas nodded. "You are needed to make an appearance, look worried, and pronounce doom upon all elves."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Nothing I have not done before. Is she going to die this time?"

Legolas shrugged. "I don't believe anytime soon; I rather think she wants to draw out the torment, for Estel's sake."

"And I used to think that Fiwen was a such a sweet tempered elf, with no malice in her thoughts."

"And I used to think you were a good judge of character."

Elrond sighed. "You've been around Estel too long."

The blond prince shrugged. "Life is always interesting with him around."

"So, fighting off orcs and spiders in Mirkwood is deemed non-interesting?"

"That gets old. Boring."

Elrond chuckled, then sobered. "Our victim is coming."

Legolas grinned and nodded. He had barely quickened his step and put on the appropriate worried countenance when Estel approached them. 

"Ada, what's happening?"

Elrond shook his head, glancing at Legolas. "I know not."

"This was done to her."

Elrond raised an eyebrow at the fierce tone. "Likely," he replied.

Estel muttered something under his breath, and pushed between Legolas and Elrond, and stalked down the hallway. 

For a moment, both elves were silent. Legolas turned to watch Estel stalk away, jaw slack, before speaking. "Did he just say 'they'll pay'?"

"Aye, he did."

Legolas closed his eyes as a smile formed. "This is going to be too good."

Elrond nodded. "When he finds out it was him --"

"Oh, aye, that'll be good."

"Then when he finds out it was a prank, he'll believe he was set up." Elrond paused. "Spiders and orcs, eh?"

"Thinking of sending Estel away once he finds out what happened?"

"Thinking of a vacation. Even old elf-lords dare not cross a righteously angry young Dunedain."

Legolas smiled. "I'm sure Thranduil would welcome Elrond Peredhil as he seeks refuge."

Elrond snorted. "You have been spending too much time with Estel. Your words are cutting, youngling." The elf lord smiled at Legolas, though. Old elf lords also take teasing. "You, my friend, are entirely too young to be so..."

"Cutting?" Legolas supplied when Elrond stalled. 

Elrond nodded. 

"I do what I can."

"Apparently. That was a well-aimed comment."

"My apologies."

"None needed," Elrond answered. "Who knows? That sharp tongue may come in handy one of these days."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "I'll stick with my bow, thank you."

Elrond laughed. "I suppose we should see to our half-mad she-elf."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I will not."

Elladan sighed. He knew that tone. It was the tone of one who expected to be obeyed immediately; one who never would have thought that anyone would argue with the command. He heard it often enough from his adar. "Ada," he said, "you have gone this far."

"And no further."

"But, Ada," Elrohir cut in, "you ate a pastry. He'll expect something."

"He has not connected Fiwen's behavior with the pastries. He's still retracing her every step."

"Estel's smart enough to put it together, and he put a tray in your library. He'll expect you to have eaten one."

"I will not."

Elladan opened his mouth, but Elrond held up his hand. "No."

Silence fell. The twins exchanged a glance. "Ada," they pleaded together.

"There is no way."

"Where's my blow gun?"

Three dark-haired elves turned to the door, argument forgotten as the inane question registered.

"Your what, Legolas?" Elrohir asked. 

"Blow gun." The prince of Mirkwood grinned. "Fiwen can't be the only elf driven mad. It would be suspicious."

"But the blow gun?" Elladan furrowed his brow.

Legolas grinned. "Trust me."

Unbidden scenarios lept to the front of Elrond's mind and he tried unsuccessfully to keep his smile under wraps. Just the thought of Legolas using a blow gun and a sharp wit to portray madness was enough to set the elf lord's mind reeling. 

"You three are too much," Elrond stated. "It is a wonder I am still sane."

Elladan grinned. "It is our hope that by the end of this you will not be."

"Please, Ada," Elrohir chimed in.

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. The twins grinned. They knew they had him. 

"It will be on my own terms."

"Of course," Elladan said quickly.

"My own way."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Elrohir stated.

"And it must be at the opportune moment." Elrond paused. "And don't do anything stupid."

Elladan exchanged a look with Elrohir and Legolas. "Our word on it. Nothing stupid." He turned to Legolas. "I know where the gun is; come with us."

Elrond watched them go. "I fear it is too late to avoid stupidity."

----------------------------------TBC

_One chapter left!! Hope you have enjoyed this so far. ___

_Cheers, Kellen_


	4. Chapter Four

Let Them Eat Cake Chapter Four  
  
Recap: Estel is on the trail of Fiwen's attacker. Except he doens't know that he's trailing himself... (yeah, that's about it).  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Dedicated to my supporters, my readers, my fan (Bill. :o) ): Thanks guys, for putting up with me.  
  
Estel had been hunting for hours, tracking Fiwen's movements from the moment she'd fallen into Elladan's arms backward. So far, it had been unproductive. As far as he could find, she'd not done anything out of the ordinary, had not talked to anyone in the least suspicious. In fact, Estel's evidence gathering pointed to the most unlikely of people: Elrond.  
  
Estel shook his head. Fiwen was a loyal servant of the household; for her to have an improptu meeting with Lord Elrond meant nothing except... well, nothing! She did gather herbs for Lord Elrond on occasion, sometimes ran messages throughout Imladris. She had even been to a few of the human villages below Rivendell running errands with other Elves. When Estel was very young, she'd forgone her duties to care for him on more than one occasion. As far as Estel had found out, Fiwen had had a most boring day.  
  
And, as such, so had Estel.  
  
He stormed into the house, heading for Elrond's study. Maybe, just maybe, the elf-lord had found something worthwhile. Without knocking, Estel strode into the study, opening his mouth to speak and instead nearly tripped over his jaw.  
  
"Wha-"  
  
Elrond stared at the floor to hide an unbidden smirk. He picked up the scroll he'd dropped and stood up again, pointing to the floor first, then the scroll and back, muttering all the while. After fixing a glare at the scroll, he dropped it from shoulder height. "No, no, no, no," he cried as it clattered and rolled. "That will not do."  
  
Afraid of what the answer might be, but too morbidly curious to pass it up, Estel asked, "What will not do?"  
  
Elrond looked up and Estel stepped back. "Never mind," Estel said quickly upon seeing the crazed look, "I do not need to know."  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
"I do?"  
  
Elrond nodded. He picked up the scroll and held it up. "This is a bad scroll."  
  
"Bad scroll. Right, got it," Estel said quickly, backing toward the door.  
  
"Don't leave, Estel."  
  
"No, not leaving. Wouldn't think of it." Another step back.  
  
Elrond cocked his head. "What did you say?"  
  
"Said I wasn't leaving," Estel said slowly. He'd never had to repeat himself to his Ada. Elrond always heard him.  
  
"Not you, Estel." Elrond shook the scroll, bring it in front of his face. "What did you say?"  
  
Estel's eyes widened. "You're talking to the scroll."  
  
"How else am I supposed to get information out of it?"  
  
Estel blinked. "Right." He stepped back, feeling like he was choking all of a sudden. "You keep getting information. I'll just..." He looked to the door, thanking the Valar he'd left it open when he stormed in. "I'll just ... leave you two alone," he paused, stepping outside and grabbing the edge of the door, "for awhile." He closed it, leaning against it. "For a long while," he muttered.  
  
Elrond smirked, knowing Estel leaned against the door. Hefting the scroll, he took careful aim and shouted. "Bad scroll!" He threw it across the room and it smacked soundly against the door right where Estel's back rested on the other side.  
  
Estel heard the shout and closed his eyes. A second later something - - the scroll, he presumed -- thudded against the door. He started, scrambling forward, and tripped over the table with the doctored pastries he'd put there that morning. Pastries scattered across the floor around his feet, and just as Estel was getting his balance under control, he heard a familiar voice shout a curse and then "down, Estel!"  
  
Estel, having an instilled instinct to trust the owner of that voice, dropped to the floor, on the pastries as something whizzed by where his head had been just moments before. Pastry filling dripping off his chin, Estel looked up the hallway. "Legolas?"  
  
The archer nodded. "Yes?"  
  
Looking non-plussed, Estel swallowed the pastry that had been forced in his mouth. "You have a blowgun?"  
  
Legolas shrugged. "I like it. Sorry about that. I have terrible aim."  
  
Estel blinked. That was a phrase he'd never thought he'd hear from Legolas. "What are you doing with the blowgun?" he asked, dread rising in him.  
  
"Hunting the oliphaunt."  
  
Estel let his head drop back to the pastry-smeared floor. The hallway was barely wide enough for three people, much less an oliphaunt. When he looked back up, Legolas had to use every ounce of will he possessed not to laugh at the spot of red filling in the middle of Estel's forehead. "Then I won't keep you," he said, resigned.  
  
Legolas saluted him. "My thanks," he called as he bounded down the hall, deftly leaping over Estel and the pastry mess.  
  
Estel slowly got up, and looked down at himself when he gained his feet. "I'm a walking pastry," he muttered. "Well, makes sense. All the elves are crazy and I'm a walking pastry." H groaned. "Maybe Cook knows something."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Cook did indeed know something. And Cook was crazier than the rest of them, but not because of some illness or poison spreading. Estel watched with eyebrow raised as Cook scurried about the kitchen, locking doors and checking all entrances and exits.  
  
"I can't go out there," Cook explained to him as he hurried past Estel. "And I cannot let them in here. They'll believe I had something to do with it." Cook groaned, as if the world itself had betrayed him. "How did it ever happen?"  
  
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Estel commented. "What made them do this?"  
  
"Only a very disturbed mind could do this to the household of Imladris."  
  
"We agree on that, Cook, but I'm trying to figure out what made the elves go crazy."  
  
Cook turned on Estel. "The vial, boy, the vial. It's gone, put in food or drink, I'd warrant sometime last night or this morning, and this is the result."  
  
Estel began to feel sick. It couldn't be. "What vial?" he asked slowly.  
  
Cook looked frantic. "The clear vial Fiwen picked up yesterday."  
  
Estel felt his stomach drop somewhere near his feet. He fancied a squishy thud where it hit. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "Is there an antidote?"  
  
Cook paused and Estel nearly panicked.  
  
"Not here," he finally said. "I keep them separate, so that if anyone comes in and grabs the vial, they can't destroy the antidote."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
Cook spilled a fine powder of flour on a counter. "Come; I'll draw you a map." Using his finger, he outlined where Estel could find the antidote.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------  
  
Cook smiled as he wiped away the map. "Did you catch that?" he seemed to ask the air.  
  
Elladan stepped out of the shadows, closely followed by Elrohir. Both were dressed in their black coats and holding quarterstaffs. Cook rolled his eyes. "Is it just me," he asked, "or are you two more alike than usual?"  
  
"We took great pains -" Elrohir began.  
  
"-to be the twins we know we can be," Elladan finished.  
  
Cook hung his head. "Go, get out of my kitchen. Please."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Estel could see the tree. It loomed not twenty feet in front of him, and he could make out the small knothole that hid the vial of antidote. He ran forward, disregarding any sort of caution.  
  
With crazed elves running around, he really should have known better.  
  
He was tackled from the side, the impact driving him and his attacker into a small tree and then rolling to a stop. Estel looked up. "Elladan?"  
  
The twin shook his head.  
  
"Elrohir." Estel winced. He hadn't mixed them up like that since he was very small. "What are you wearing?"  
  
"My coat," the Elf answered as if it were the simplest answer to the stupidest question in the world.  
  
Estel nodded. "Ah." After a moment, "Let me up, brother? I've errands to run."  
  
Elrohir nodded as well. "Ah, right." He scrambled off and held out his hand for Estel. "Up you go then."  
  
Estel took his hand and instead of the helpful pull he expected, Elrohir just stood there. "El, what is it?"  
  
"A mirror."  
  
Estel blinked, dreading what he was about to see as he turned and found Elladan mimicking Elrhohir's pose. Entranced, Elrohir moved his arm, only to have Elladan move exactly the same way.  
  
Estel hurriedly got to his feet, watching his brothers with some sort of weird interest as they continued to mimic each other's movements. They were good, he had to give them that. In short order, Estel couldn't tell who mimicked who because they're movements were so perfect attuned. After watching for a moment, Estel turned and ran for the tree.  
  
As he reached for the knothole, a dart hit the tree just above the hole and a whoop echoed in the not too distant trees. Legolas came running through the trees, smiling. "I finally hit it," he told Elrohir, who was still in the strange dance with Elladan.  
  
"Good for you," both twins responded, which earned them a sharp look from...well, from themselves.  
  
Estel blinked, shook his head and reached into the hole.  
  
His hand didn't fit. Biting his lower lip, his forced it through and found the vial Cook had told him about (and in actuality planted by Fiwen) hidden there. He grasped it and pulled... and pulled and kept pulling and unless he could take the entire tree to the kitchen, taking the vial to Cook wasn't happening.  
  
"Estel, let go of the oliphaunt!"  
  
The Man blinked for several reasons. One, because Legolas had a blowgun aimed at his head. Two, the phrase itself and three, what oliphaunt? Then, the fourth reason made itself known.  
  
Estel waggled his fingers. They were coated with some sort of sticky... here he paused... glue-like substance.  
  
He was glued to the tree. With his hand inside the tree.  
  
It clicked. For a moment, Estel was completely silent.  
  
"You crazy Elves!" The rest of Estel's rant quickly denigrated into something not totally comprehensible, and probably not repeatable in respectable company.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir ceased their motions. "How long until that glue wears off?"  
  
Legolas shrugged. "Couple hours, at least."  
  
"Good," Elladan said, as he backed away from the furiously struggling young man. He pulled Elrohir with him. "That'll give us enough time to disappear completely."  
  
"I hear Mirkwood's good this time of year," Elrohir added.  
  
"First place he'd look," Legolas commented.  
  
"Right. Lorien?" Elladan questioned.  
  
"Second place he'd look."  
  
"I'll find you!" Estel shouted. "You miserable, conniving Elves. You're nearing the end of your immortal years!"  
  
Legolas laughed, but quickly sobered when Estel shot a glare worthy of his Elven father at the archer. "Come, let's away," he said lightly to the twins.  
  
They left Estel furiously pounding on the tree, swearing revenge.  
  
The Elves hid.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------THE END 


End file.
